


Chocolate Box

by starraya



Category: Holby City
Genre: Domesticity, F/F, Femslash February, Fluff, Humour, PWP, Sexual Content, Smut, hurt/ comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-21 14:11:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9552380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starraya/pseuds/starraya
Summary: A collection of bite-size little one-shots written for last year's Valentine's Day Sapphic Fluff Fest.With Valentine's Day approaching again, here's the final, smutty instalment.





	1. Glasses

Bernie enters their office and sees Serena squinting at a piece of paper in front of her, before sighing. Resolute. Bernie watches Serena dig out a glasses case from her bag. Watches her take a pair of glasses out and put them on. Hears her huff as she does. 

 

"If you need them, you might as well wear them," Bernie says, practical as ever. She moves to stand behind Serena's chair, placing her hands on the other woman's shoulders. 

 

"I know," Serena admits, "it's just . . . well no one likes being reminded they are on the wrong side of fifty." 

 

Bernie's hands massage lightly at Serena's shoulders. Serena puts down the paperwork she, sits fully up and leans back into the touch. 

 

"Tough day?"

 

"Mmmmm," Serena says, closing her eyes, her new glasses still perched on her nose, "and not helped by looking like a washed-up, frumpy librarian."

 

"On the contary," Bernie says, lowering her head and placing her lips at Serena's neck. Kissing her way down. Punctuating her words with kisses. "I think you look very sexy, indeed."

 

Serena turns her chair around to face Bernie. "Do you?" 

 

Bernie answers Serena by leaning down, putting her arms on either side of the arms of her chair and kissing Serena. 

 

And that night she shows her enthusiasm for the new addition to Serena's attire using a similar shortage of words. 

 

Not that Serena complains. 

 


	2. Truths

  
They are in bed together. Serena's naked body is writhing beneath Bernie's. Serena's hands fist the bedsheets. Her fingers twist and turn in a similar rhythm to Bernie's as they thrust deep inside her. 

  
   
"Please," she begs. "I need . . ."

  
   
"Like this?" Bernie curls her fingers. Moves her thumb to ghost over Serena's clit.

  
   
"Yes."

  
   
Serena groans as Bernie's thumb begins to draw circles.

   
   
"Is this what you want?"

  
   
Serena arches her back. Sobs for more. 

  
   
Bernie happily complies. Moves her head lower. Down to the apex of Serena's thighs. Her mouth replaces her thumb, tongue flicking over Serena's clit. One of Serena's hands spears Bernie's hair. Clutches tightly. Holds Bernie there, between her thighs. As if to say: _don't you dare leave. Don't you dare stop._ Bernie reassures her she won't by taking Serena's clit into her mouth, sucking hard.   
 

  
Serena comes undone, moaning Bernie's name. Her pleasure crests and overflows, flooding her body in waves. Bernie's fingers continue to work in her and her mouth on her, anchoring Serena to the bed throughout. 

  
   
Bernie stays between Serena's thighs as the aftershocks flow through her body, before slowly making her way back up. She hovers above Serena, resting her weight on one elbow. Serena opens her eyes to find Bernie smiling down at her.  One hand pulls Bernie's head down to kiss her, whilst the other flattens on her back and pulls her body down. So their bodies are pressed together. It is only when Bernie's head settles in the crook of her neck that Serena realises what she said. Or rather screamed out at the height of her pleasure. 

  
   
Bernie places a light kiss at her neck, before mumbling into the sweat-sheened skin there. 

  
   
"I love you, too."  
   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is erm . . . the filthiest thing I've ever written. And my first proper attempt at smut, so argh. You've all corrupted me! Ha!


	3. Surprises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I de-aged Serena by a couple of years for the plot, but I'm sure you can forgive me.

"Berenice Wolfe, if you walk me into a wall, you're sleeping on the sofa for the foreseeable future."

  
   
"I won't. I promise." 

  
   
Bernie is behind Serena. Has her hands firmly on the other woman's eyes. Bernie is guiding her forward, to the entrance of a building. 

  
   
"Step up twice." 

  
   
"Move left." 

  
   
"Stop, okay, now forward." 

  
   
It is a very slow process that necessitates a lot of care and coordination. Serena stops abruptly, not trusting Bernie's directions and Bernie all but walks into her. They both nearly end up a mess on the floor. Bernie looses her hands and wraps her arms around Serena's waist to stop them falling over. When they've steadied, she realises that she's taken her hands away from Serena's eyes. She quickly rectifies her mistake. 

  
   
"Don't worry. I didn't peek. I have my eyes closed, as instructed Major." 

  
   
"I should have brought a blindfold."

  
   
"Yes, why didn't you? It would have been a lot easier. Or do you only prefer me blindfolded in the bedroom?" 

  
   
" _Serena_!"

  
   
"What? I like it too." 

  
   
"Hush," Bernie hisses. "We're nearly here." 

  
   
"Finally," Serena says.

  
   
Bernie leans in to her, her front pressed to Serena's back, her breath hot on Serena's neck. "Less of the cheek," she whispers, "I still haven't given you your birthday present yet."

  
   
"I thought this was it." 

  
   
"Well, yes . . . but you have more than one. Now, shush. We're here." 

  
   
Bernie guides Serena into a room and remove her hands from her eyes. The room erupts into a chorus of "Surprise!" and cheering.

  
   
All of Bernie's and Serena's friends and family are gathered there, dressed-up and smiling. Jason is there, Elinor, Charlotte and Cameron. Morveen, Raf, Fletch and his four children. More of their colleagues from Holby.

  
   
Serena's hand flies to her mouth. 

  
   
"Serena Campbell. Lost for words. I'd never thought I'd see the day."

  
   
That's when Serena spots Ric, grinning. 

  
   
She chooses turning around to face Bernie over chastising him. Serena places a quick, by all accounts, chaste, for the love and adoration that is currently overwhelming her for Bernie Wolfe, on the other woman's lips.

  
   
She ignores the wolf whistle behind them. She has a suspicion it might be Cameron. But she can't be sure.

  
   
It isn't Serena's birthday today, no her birthday was a couple of months earlier. She spent the best part of her it in a young man's abdomen. A young man her and Bernie couldn't save. She couldn't help but think about it later. Let it play on her mind.   
How young and vulnerable he was. How it was such a waste of life.

  
   
She spent the rest of her fifteeth birthday getting very, very drunk, wrapped in the arms of Bernie Wolfe. By the time they had finished in theatre it had been too late to go to Albies. The place would have been closing by the time they got there. So, they went home. Serena found the shiraz. Bernie a tub of ice-cream.

  
   
"In lieu of cake," she explained, before settling down next to Serena on the sofa (somewhere they would both drift off on, side by side, 40 minutes later). 

  
   
"Happy Birthday, darling," she said, before kissing Serena.

  
   
It is the same words she says now, after Serena turns to her and thanks her. Her eyes are wide and bright and gleaming with tears. Her face beaming. 

  
   
"Happy Birthday, Darling." 


	4. Surprises (II)

They are lying in bed. Bernie's sprawled on her back. Serena on her front. Serena is snoring softly, deep in sleep. Bernie is in that hazy space between sleeping and waking. There is a beep, sharp and intermittent, in her dream. What is the noise of hospital machines in her head is actually the morning birdsong outside.

 

Sunlight streams through a gap in the curtains, basking the room in a warm glow. It's heavenly, to lie next to each other like this, half-wrapped up in soft, 600 thread count sheets. The duvet is down to Serena's waist, her back and arms and head are exposed to the cool - but not cold - morning air. It's going to be an unseasonably hot day. The air will heat up. The sun will shine. And it will feel like it's late May and not two months before.

 

Bernie has, somehow, one arm and one leg out the duvet, and is spread out on the bed, limbs at odd angles, in a position Serena would surely tease if she were awake. But, however awkward it looks, it is comfortable. And Bernie has never been more content. Her even, deep breathes fill the room, mixing with Serena's.

 

Bernie is close to slowly, waking up, her body ready to stretch out its limbs leisurely, before turning to one side so she can gaze at a sleeping Serena. It's only just shy of eight, but it's a lie-in by Bernie's standards. And, though she may wake in a few minutes time, there's no need for her to get out of bed. No need for her to get dressed. It's a Sunday morning. Her and Serena have absolutely, gloriously nothing to do today. No work. No surgery. No stress. Nothing to do but enjoy the day, and, if they so wish, spend it louging in bed. And doing other things. Like making - soft, slow - love. Taking their as long as they want since time - and the rest of the world itself - will cease to exist beyond their bed.

 

Beyond them.

 

As Bernie gradually drifts towards consciousness, a lazy smile plays on her features.

 

It breaks into a frown as the birdsong, realised as the beep of machines in Bernie's head, is overwhelmed by another sound. A constant and unrelentless ringing invades Bernie's dream.

 

Bernie is jolted awake by the fire alarm. She can't see it, but she can smell smoke. Almost instinctively, her heart races and terror floods her veins.

 

Serena is beginning to rouse, but Bernie shakes her awake abruptly. Tells her to get dressed as she jumps out of bed, scrambling for clothes. She pulls on any she can find on the floor. Dresses faster than she ever has. She tosses Serena a bathrobe. The moment Serena puts it on Bernie is tugging at her hand, pulling her out the bedroom and down the stairs.

 

They find no fire, but Jason in a smoke-filled kitchen. And a very burnt breakfast.

 

"Jesus Christ," is the only thing Bernie can think to say, relief now washing through her. Serena says nothing. Still in a state of shock and disorentiation. Less than thirty seconds ago she was still deep in slumber.

 

"Are you angry with me?"

 

"No, no. Just relieved. You're alright," Bernie breathes, still half-panting from the run down the stairs, "we're alright."

 

"The world can go round," Jason smiles.

 

"What on earth were you doing?" Serena asks. Amused, not angry.

 

"Making you breakfast."

 

"I thought you weren't back till tonight."

 

"I came back early. I wanted to surprise you."

 

"Well, you've certainly done that," Serena laughs. "But why?"

 

"It's the fourth Sunday of Lent," Jason explains, "I know you're my Aunt and my mother's dead and we're going to the grave later, like we always do. But people can have more than one mother, can't they? And even if they aren't biological, they are still maternal figures. And mothers are people that love you and care for you and who you love and care for back. And that's what this day is for."

 

" _Oh_ ," Bernie says, "you wanted to make Serena breakfast in bed."

 

"No," Jason says, quickly, "I wanted to make you _both_ breakfast in bed."

 

Bernie is lost for words, that is, until Jason screws up his face. "And I've ruined it all. I burnt the food. This is a terrible mother's day."

 

"No, no," Bernie reassures, "it's wonderful. I've never . . . never had anyone want to make me breakfast in bed before."

 

"Really?"

 

"I was always on tour. Always away on Mother's day."

 

Serena senses the regret in Bernie's voice. She knows, despite her improving relationship with Cameron and Charlotte, that Bernie still harbours guilt for missing the best part of their childhoods.Serena takes Bernie's hand and squeezes it.

 

"It was a lovely idea, Jason," Serena says, "Whatever did we do to deserve such a thoughtful nephew."

 

"But I haven't made you breakfast."

 

"But you were going to."

 

"And," Serena adds, moving to the fridge, "I'm sure we can get this place cleaned up and look," she opens the fridge, "if you want to make breakfast, there's still more eggs. Was it omelettes you were making?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Well, if you like, we make them with you. Seems silly us being up and leaving you to do it all."

 

"But that was the point. So you didn't have to."

 

"Okay," Serena says, "let us both get dressed and then we'll help clean this up. But no more, okay?"

 

"Okay."

 

Serena smiles. Jason smiles back.

 

Back in their bedroom, Serena takes a tissue from the box and passes it Bernie.

 

"You alright?"

 

"Yeah, just being a bit silly, that's all," Bernie says, wiping the tear away from her eye.

 

"Not at all. Jason thinks you're family Bernie because . . . well you are."


	5. Ruminations

Serena knows something's wrong when Bernie comes home. It was Serena's day off. Bernie had meant to be home hours ago, but a last minute, difficult surgery made that an impossibility.

 

They were going to go out. On a date to a restaurant. The anniversary of their last visit to an Italian with an expensive wine-list. But not any more.

 

The dress Bernie has brought will have to wait for another day. She thought her old black one in her wardrobe would do, but Charlotte, whom Bernie has being seen more and more often of late, disagreed. Talked Bernie into buying a new dress. Bernie picked the first one she liked. It was dark blue and Bernie had always liked the colour, and it was, more importantly, plain. She didn't want anything too fussy. Bernie was relieved when the dress fit and brought it there and then.She had, admittedly, grown excited at the prospect of wearing the dress and surprising Serena. Of making a point that she did in fact own a dress - more than one now - and did in fact own something not grey, white or black.

 

The dress would have to hang in her wardobe, unworn, for another time, Bernie quickly realised as the girl on the operating table crashed. When Bernie had stabilised her, through sheer grit and determination, Fletch had appeared. He had talked to the girl earlier, when she had been brought in, before her condition had worsened. He wanted to see how she was doing.

 

She's fighting, Bernie had told him. She's holding on.

 

Bernie had asked Fletch to ring Ms Campbell. Asked him if he minded letting her know that Bernie was in theatre and that she wouldn't be home till at least ten.

 

"Sure," he had said, "shame about your date."

 

"Sorry?"

 

"A little birdie told me."

 

"Who?"

 

"Now that would be telling."

 

"Come on, humour a girl," Bernie had said, aware she was going to have a long, trying evening on her hands.

 

"It's just Miss Campbell has been beaming ear to ear. And she hasn't shouted at the juniors once in three days. I think she even smiled at one yesterday."

 

"And that's all it took for you to work out the details of our personal life?" Bernie says, amused.

 

"Well, no. Serena told me. I asked why she was in such a good mood and I think she was so excited, she just came out with. Anyway," Fletch says, "I'll go and make that call."

 

"Thanks," Bernie says. She looks back down at the girl. Come on, she thinks, we can do this.

 

The girl dies at 9:54 PM.

 

-

 

Serena doesn't care about the cancelled date, not really. They can go another time. Celebrate another anniversary. Bernie returning home from Kiev sounds like a good one.

 

Serena knows the hectic nature of their jobs. Dates get cancelled and rearranged. They work overtime. They get called in on days off. They work double shifts, sometimes. She remembers Valentine's Day, both of them too tired and worn out after hours in surgery to do anything but crawl into bed and fall fast asleep.

 

Sharing not just a profession with Bernie, but a ward, means neither of them have to explain cancelling dates. Getting caught in theatre. Putting the work first. All those excuses and apologies aren't needed. But, sometimes, other things are. 

 

Serena quickly realises something's wrong with Bernie. She's hardly spoken too words when since she's returned home. Bernie is hardly the most talkative of women, but Serena has become adept at reading her silences. At reading what Bernie doesn't say as well what she does.

 

After Bernie leaves to go upstairs, Serena follows her. Bernie is in the shower, staring into space and Serena joins her. She takes the bottle of shower gel from Bernie's trembling hands.

 

"The eleven-year old girl?"

 

"I lost her."

 

"Oh, Bernie."

 

"It's just the job."

 

"And it's the hardest part, I know." Serena reaches up and sweeps to one side the fringe that the water has plastered to Bernie's face.

 

"I know, I know we should stay detatched. We should not -"

 

"Bullshit," Serena says. "We stay detatched as far as it takes to do operate our best in theatre, but you'd be inhuman not to feel anything. Not to think about it _out_ of theatre."

 

"We shouldn't though. We should never take it home."

 

"But we do. We think about it. In an ideal world we'd leave it at the operating table, but sometimes we don't.  Sometimes need to think it through a bit, to accept it, to let it go, but only for a bit Bernie."

 

"She was only eleven. She had pigtails. Like Charlotte did when she was her age. Earlier, just after she was admitted, she told Fletch that she was worried she'd have to miss school. She didn't want to miss her friends. She - "

 

Serena wraps her arms around Bernie and pulls her close. She knows exactly what is going through Bernie's head. And sure enough, she hears it from Bernie's mouth. "If only . . ."

 

"I know you Bernie Wolfe and I know you did everything you could for that little girl."

 

"It wasn't enough, though. I had to tell her parents. I had to - "

 

"We lose people Bernie, and it hurts, but this . . . this wasn't your fault, okay?"

 

Serena draws back. She places her fingers under Bernie's chin and gently tilts it up so she can look into her eyes. Make sure Bernie's alright

 

"Okay."

 

"Good, the world can go round," Serena says and Bernie manages a small smile. She squeezes some shower gel into her palm. Rubs it into both hands and drags her hands over Bernie's shoulders, down her breasts, her ribs, Bernie's torso. Her hands settle on Bernie's hips.

 

Serena is just about to ask Bernie to turn around so she can do the woman's back, when Bernie says her name.

 

"Thank you," she says.

 

"Your very welcome," Serena says, her fingers unconsciously drawing cirles on Bernie's hipbones.

 

Serena sees Bernie's eyes darken. Sees something glint in them. Serena forgets about cleaning Bernie's back. Instead, she finds Bernie's mouth hot and hungry beneath hers. She feels fingers tangle in her wet hair.

 

The hot water falls over them, washing over their bodies. Washing away the day. And Bernie lets it, lets all her ruminations of guilt and sorrow and anger fall away like dirt from her skin.


	6. Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to write something really fun and light-hearted (even if it verges slightly on crack).

"You look exhausted. Get some rest."

 

"Well not all of us can be swanning around - " 

 

"Oi. This is the first day I've had off in weeks."

 

"I know. And you deserve a break."

 

"So do you. How mant hours have you put in this week? You. Need. To. Rest. Ms. Wolfe. Besides, I need you in top form for when I come back."

 

"Need me on my A-game in theatre to teach me all those new and exciting things you've learnt?"

 

"Yeah, I was thinking of a different kind of activity. Some raw, sweaty, unadulterated, vig - "

 

The time between her office door swings open and Bernie mutes the laptop is amazingly short. Her thoughts - and the less than clear direction they were heading in - aren't able to snap back to professionalism nearly as quick as her hands skate over the keyboard. It's hard to give the F1 that's just appeared - Andrew, Aiden? (Bernie needs to get better with names) - her full attention when Serena is still on her laptop screen, wickedly smirking, eyes sparkling, tongue even darting out to lick her lips at one point. Even though Bernie can't hear what she's saying, she has a pretty good guess.

 

Bernie remembers telling the new F1 that she thought at the very least medical schools taught students to knock. She remembers words rushing out of his mouth. Stuff about tests and patients and enjoying his first day. Bernie must have muttered something like 'glad of it'. She definitely remembers having to lower her laptop screen as the boy moved closer.

 

Her overall impression from him was of eagerness and excitement. (She calls him out on his over-eagerness a couple of weeks later, saying that enthusiasm was all well and good but don't let it turn into cockiness, becoming too sure and certain, that you became complacent. He didn't quite get the message. Joked about how, yeah, he should probs, like, slow down a bit, not run before he could walk. After all, he grinned, this job was all about stamina. Bernie missed his wink, eyes scanning over a patient file.) 

 

It is in her office, at the end of his first day and at the end of both their shifts, when he invites Bernie out for a drink. She politely declines. Tells him to have fun with the others (unware from the flash in his eyes that he just wanted to take her for a drink.) Bernie tells him half-serious, half-light-hearted that perhaps it is a bit soon to get celebratory since he has months of tough training ahead.

 

"I look forward to it, he smirks. "You can push me as much as you hard as you want. I'm up for the challenge." With that, he left the office.

 

Hmm, a slight cocky streak Bernie thinks, packing up her things and heading to her car, before forgetting about the boy altogether.

 

Bernie texts Serena. Apologizes. Small interruption. She'll be back home in half an hour, safe in the privacy of her own flat. Without interruptions. Don't start without me, she warns.

 

I won't if you're quick, Serena texts back, a girl has needs Ms. Wolfe. Bernie reads the words in Serena's voice, low and rich. The same tone she used when talking of some raw, sweaty, unadulterated, vigorous _passion._ The thought lights a heat inside her that goes straight between her legs.

 

-

 

"Strange," the boys says when Bernie walks into the locker room, catching him changing his clothes, a couple of weeks later. "I can't think of many jobs where your colleagues see you so frequently half-naked."

 

"It's a good job we're doctors," she'd says, unperturbed. They see bodies medically every day. In her time as a Doctor and especially as an army Doctor Bernie has seen more naked male bodies than the boy has had hot dinners, several of the muscular variety, and she doesn't give a second thought to the F1s'.

 

She turns back out the room. She's looking for Jason. She tries for Hanssen's office. She finds Jason there, playing chess with the CEO of Holby City Hospital.

 

"Ah, Miss Wolfe, I'm afraid your nephew is beating me at chess. He normally plays it at this time, so I offered to give him a go."

 

"I thought we were meeting in Pulses," Bernie says to Jason.

 

"We were, at quarter to six," Jason replies, "but you were late."

 

"Yeah, sorry. Trauma call. I should have . . . Why didn't you catch the bus?"

 

"I've lost my bus pass. It's not in my coat pocket or my bag or my wallet and I can't think where else it would be. Do you think Auntie Serena would know?"

 

Bernie smiles at the mention of Serena. She knows how much he misses his aunt. It's been three months since Bernie moved in with Jason and Serena and she's been sharing their routines for a lot longer. But, before leaving for the states, Serena had made sure that Bernie was okay with looking after him, not that she doubted Bernie could one bit, it was just - Bernie had cut her off, telling her that she understood. And she'd be more than happy to look after Jason. Serena had equally asked Jason if he was alright with staying with Bernie for two months. There was no need for his routines to change, and if they did, they could plan and make sure the changes were as small as possible. He'd said he would miss Serena, but that Bernie had learnt his routines and knew them now as well as Serena did and he would be alright with her. And so far, they have been alright. But no matter smoothly Jason routines go, there is still the persistent feeling of something not quite right. Something not quite there. Something the house seems empty without. And, of course, that something is a someone. Serena. Serena who might just know those odd bits of information in situations like this. Like where Jason's bus pass is.

 

"Maybe," Bernie tells Jason, "We can call her later if you like. But I'll message her first. She might be busy," Bernie checks her wristwatch, but Jason beats her to it.

 

"It's five to one. She will have taken her lunch break by now, if she's had time."

 

"We're calling her tomorrow," Bernie says, although she doesn't doubt Jason has remembered, "you can ask her then." Bernie knows he has Serena's - or as concrete as a one she could give him, given the hectic nature of her job - schedule. They have planned video calls, a long one every Saturday lunchtime and a short one every Wednesday afternoon. Serena's time.  

 

They schedule times for the calls, mostly for Jason's sake, but both Bernie and Serena are glad of it. So far, Serena has managed to pick up every call - not caught up in theatre, or a last-minute meeting emergency. And it would have to be theatre, or an emergency that would keep her from the calls. She doesn't want to upset the routine she and Jason have decided upon. And, more simply, she misses him. She loves the fact that she has a pocket of time, however quick it goes, twice a week. Carved off. Marked out. Allocated. Just for her family. To see their faces. Being a Doctor, Serena doesn't look upon the advances of the technological age as others her age might, with a slight fear and a shake of her head and a what has this world come too? The advances in medicine she's seen through her career, after all, have filled her with delight and even more enthusiasm for a profession she loves so dearly. FaceTime, however, she has come to regard, since her two month secondment in Boston began, as very much a blessing.

 

Even if the video calls go far too quickly for Serena's liking. Even if she does keep in some form of communication everyday with Bernie, even if it's just a text wishing the other goodnight or morning. If they're not at work, their conversations are longer. Sometimes very long. 

 

(Berenice Wolfe, it is half two in the morning, Serena types when she realizes the time in the UK, go to bloody bed! Bernie texts back, asking for a bedtime story. Winking emoji included. Serena rolls her eyes. Before Bernie can text her a list of the health benefits of masturbation - something she has, in the past, actually done in order to plead her case - Serena dials her number. They hadn't exactly been talking about PG rated things over text, so to suddenly put a stop to it all seems terribly unfair on the woman. On them both.

 

"You're insatiable Ms. Wolfe," she says when Bernie picks up.

 

"Only for you," is the reply.)

 

 

Serena takes the lift up to AAU, very much refreshed from her trip abroad. Despite all the long and arduous surgeries she'd sunk her teeth into over the pond. Despite the little sleep she'd had over the weekend for someone with jetlag. She feels refreshed. Despite (or perhaps even because of) the long, heavenly hours she's spent getting reacquainted with Bernie's body the past couple of days.

 

She'd didn't realize how much she'd missed her touch, her scent, her voice (even over phone or laptop it couldn't match hearing it in real life, after eight weeks) until sighting her girlfriend and nephew in the airport, heart fit to burst. Jason had enveloped her in a crushing hug. Bernie, afterwards, a crushing kiss. One Serena happily sank into, hands threading Bernie's hair. It smelt of shampoo. And something else. Indescribable, but acutely familiar. _Home_

 

On her first day back at Holby, she steps out the elevator door with two coffees in her hand from Pulses. One for her and one from Bernie. They were ever so slightly late for work (contrary to what Bernie said this morning, sharing a shower did definitely not make things quicker) and so Serena had offered to get the life-sustaining substance for them both and let Bernie go on up ahead. 

 

Instead of heading to their office, Serena spots Bernie talking to a patient in bed three and she lingers at the nurse's station to watch her. She hasn't seen Bernie at work, in scrubs, in weeks and, as simple as the sight is, it warms her heart. She's missed Bernie. And she's missed this place. 

 

The new F1 appears beside her, searching for a patient file. He follows her eye-line. Stares too at Bernie. 

 

"Oh, she ain't half a tough nut to crack." He says, a big smile on his face as if he knows a joke no one else does. 

 

"In what way?" Serena asks. 

 

"Every time I ask her out she says no. Keeps pushing me back. Playing hard to get. Must be an army thing," he rambles on, "she used to be a major, you know. I bet she's dead strong. Could probably lift more than me. I like strength in a woman."

 

"Do you? Well, I don't doubt she could lift me up if she wanted," Serena plays along, "by the look of those fantastic, _strong_ arms." 

 

The boy looks at her a little weird.  He's uncomfortable for the brunette's sake of course, she looks lovely and probably just wants to keep talking with him (he has that way with the ladies) and she probably doesn't even realize it, bless her, why would she, but what she said well . . . it sounded a little . . . you know . . . gay. 

 

(Gay is fine of course. It's just the woman looks as straight as a beanpole. Bernie even straighter. That's where the weirdness is.)

 

Anyway, he thinks and starts rambling again about his recent advances to Ms. Wolfe, only stopping to ask Serena: "So what do you say? Think I have a shot?"

 

"I think her partner might have something to say about it."

 

"Oh, she's never mentioned a husband."

 

"No, some people don't like to advertise their private business," Serena says, "but I can assure you she is very much married."

 

"What? To who? How do you kn-"

 

"Serena Wolfe," she flashes her most dazzling smile. "Her wife," she places Bernie's coffee on the counter to shake the boy's hand firmly, "and her co-lead on this ward. Or, in simpler terms, your boss." She picks up the coffee, strides past him, straight to her and Bernie's office, leaving the boy open mouthed. His face is the epitome of _oh fuck._

 

(Unless you tell me the reason for your transfer request to another ward, Hanssen tells the boy that lunchtime, I'm afraid I cannot accept the application. How have your first two months been, the CEO asks. Fine, the boy mumbles. I could probably do with having a chat with Ms. Wolfe about your progress, if you feel like AAU is not for you. That won't be necessary the boy says. I've changed my mind. I want to stay on AAU, he says before scampering out of Hanssen's office.)

 

Serenadoesn't see the boy again that morning. And she can't say it bothers her. Even if he does miss the morning meeting. It's of little consequence. The meeting's more to see everyone and how they've been doing. After a short speech - one Bernie said she really didn't have to do - she's bombarded with questions over her trip away. Questions from the weather to whether she's tempted to swap the NHS for the states (definitely not any time soon, she answered, sorry to disappoint if they'd hoped otherwise) to just, simply, how was it? Interesting, challenging, is her general response, but in the best way. But, to quote her favourite childhood film, there really is no place like home. She's glad to be back. And eager to get stuck back in. 

 

Before the crowd gathered for the meeting fully disperses, she seeks out Raf, Morven and Fletch. Gives them the little gifts she's brought them back from America. Jason asks where Bernie's present is (she gave him one Friday night, but not Bernie). He reminds her how Bernie brought her a gift from Kiev. So where was Bernie's?

 

"She's probably getting it tonight," Fletch says. 

 

Bernie, who has been watching Serena conduct the meeting, mentally repeating _keep it short, keep it short_ during Serena's speech, nearly dies on the spot. 

 

"Fletch!" She squeaks.

 

"Or," Fletch adds, "she's already had it."

 

Serena looks him dead in the eye and smiles a thin smile. Her voice is smooth as a sheet of ice. "Thank you, Nurse Fletcher, for volunteering for that double shift on Thursday. AAU is blessed to have you." 

 

He catches Serena a couple of minutes later at the tail end of the meeting. Before he can protest or say anything remotely sounding like 'but I have four kids' Serena warns him to think again before bringing up her - frankly marvelous, thank for your concern - sex life in front of her nephew and her entire ward. He soon accepts the double shift.  

 

- 

 

Serena's happy to be back by her partner's side, at home and in surgery. Bernie's equally glad to have her co-lead back. Everything feels back to normal. Everything feels right. 

 

There is just one thing and Bernie brings it up a week later after Serena's return. The new F1.

 

"Don't think you think you're being a bit hard on the boy?" Bernie asks Serena when they are cleaning up in the kitchen after tea. Surely, it was just a mistake Bernie thinks. Foolish and harmless. One she didn't even notice until Serena returned to Holby, handed Bernie her coffee from _Pulses_ and told Bernie of the _very interesting_ conversation she'd just had with the new F1. Bernie hadn't a clue and apart undergoing a little moment of realisation, some of the boy's strange words and behaviour now making sense, she was pretty indifferent to the whole thing. Serena, however, was not.

 

"I'm not being hard," she says, "I'm being nice. Nice as pie, in fact."

 

" _Exactly_. I think every time you smile at him you terrify the life out of him bit by bit." Since Serena's return she's been charm itself towards the boy. Too nice, perhaps, to someone who had designs on her wife. And to say she's thoroughly freaked out the boy is a bit of an understatement.

 

Bernie, laughing and pulling Serena closer to her, tells her to stop playing with the boy.

 

Serena laughs, but at Bernie's long look, grumbles: "Oh, alright. But where I am I going to get my fun from now?"

 

"I can think of a few things," Bernie says, eyes gleaming before taking Serena's hand and dragging her upstairs. She still hasn't finished welcoming her back girlfriend properly.

 

Whilst all the evidence from last weekend might point to the contrary, Serena doesn't mind letting Bernie having the last word. This time.


	7. Presents

"Adrienne Mae Campbell, I've told you. We must open our cards first."

 

Ada does as her mother tells her, fumbling with the envelope she has just been handed. She gives it two quick glances, as five year olds are prone to do, before fixing her eyes once more on the object of her desire: an impeccably wrapped present.

 

-

 

('No, Bernie, dear I think it's best we left the wrapping to me.'

 

'Why? I've just brought the paper.'

 

'Yes, thank you, but two words: Kiev. Wine.'

 

'I told you Serena I changed.'

 

'Yeah, but your wrapping skills haven't.'

 

'My unwrapping skills, however . . .'

 

'Do you ever stop thinking about sex?'

 

'With you? No. Come on though, I do have the most nimble fingers.'

 

'Prove it.')

 

-

 

Nana Serena and Nana Bunny (Ada had, shortly after learning to speak, chosen to hear Bernie as Bunny and the name has stuck ever since) had brought her a new bike. This morning they had taken her out to the park, both to make the most of the sunny weather with their granddaughter and to give Elinor time to prepare the party food for later. 

 

Nana Serena and Nana Bunny said that soon she'd be able to ride without stabilisers. That she was a quick learner. Ada was delighted. They also instructed her on bike safety. Something Ada took very seriously. She will always double-check she had snapped the clasp on her helmet for years to come. 

 

Ada adores her bike. But Nana Serena had said that she had another little, special present off her and Bunny. One she could open at home. Mummy told her to leave it to last. And she loves her other presents, she really does, but Ada has been longing for nothing more than to rip the paper off this one for the whole day. Nana Serena and Nana Bunny buy the best presents. 

 

Ada tears. She squeals. She's so enraptured with her present she doesn't hear her mother's joking groan. 

 

" _Mum_." 

 

Serena, sitting on the sofa, glass of red in one hand, looks down and fiddles with her necklace with the other hand. A picture of innocence. 

 

"What?" 

 

" _Bernie_." 

 

"Don't look at me," Bernie says.

 

Elinor fishes out the tag amongst shreds of wrapping paper. She reads it out, loud and clear. 

 

"Dear Ada Mae,

Happy Birthday!

Love from _Nana Serena and Nana Bunny x"_

 

They have brought her daughter a toy doctor's set. 

 

Elinor narrows her eyes at her mum. 

 

"What?" Serena shrugs her shoulders. "You can never have enough doctors in the family." 

 

Elinor stares at Serena and Bernie, before dragging her gaze pointedly to Cameron with his arm around Morveen's waist. 

 

Edward is coming over later, otherwise her look would move to him. 

 

Of course, Elinor thinks, it's not like they have five doctors already in the family. 

 

"Don't worry Elles," Charlotte chips in, "next year it'll be the ceremonial gift of Operation." 

 

There is a chorus of laughter from around the room.

 

Ada doesn't understand the word ceremonial. She isn't really listening anyway. She is already trying to rip open the packaging of her toy set, face beaming bright.

 

"Come here," Jason offers, "I'll open it for you." 

 

Whilst Ada hands the toy set over to her uncle, Elinor tells her she needs to say something to her Nans.

 

Ada rushes over to hug Bernie and Serena in turn, thanking them both.

 

For the rest of the afternoon, she gets to be like her grandmothers. She gets to be a doctor and she goes about very serious doctor work, tongue determinedly sticking out her mouth as she concentrates. She takes everyone's temperatures and listens to their heartbeats. 

 

Serena's borrowed cardigan trails from Ada's shoulders. She hasn't got a doctor's costume (that will be arriving later, packaged and parceled, given by her Grandad and Auntie Libby, earning another groan from Elinor), but for now she wants to look like her grandmother and so Serena offers her her cardigan. Ada wraps it tight around her, at first. It smells of her Nana Serena. Soft and safe.

 

(Serena is unaware at this point that she won't be getting her cardigan back any time soon.)

 

Ada also ties her hair like Nana Bernie does. In a ponytail. 

 

Serena instructs Ada gently and slowly how to wrap a bandage properly around Bernie's arm. She carefully notices Ada's enthusiasm growing and growing and the seemingly endless rolls of white fabric at her feet. She knows any minute she will join Bernie as another of Ada's patients. 

 

Serena catches Elinor's attentiom and mimes cake across the room. Elinoe nods. Serena returns what can only be couple of minutes later, cake in hand, five candles glowing in a darkened room. Bernie resembles a mummy. 

 

Elinor films the singing. She scans the whole room, focusing mostly on her daughter's efforts to blow out her candles, but still catching good, fairly lingering shots of Bernie the Mummy. Serena bursts into laughter when Elinor sends her the video the next day. Tells Bernie she didn't know halloween had come early.

 

After Serena takes the cake in the kitchen to cut, Elinor keeps the camera rolling. Fixes it on her daughter as Ada runs back to her doctor's toy set, asking Bernie if there's anywhere she feels poorly, before pressing her hand assuredly to Bernie's forehead, feeling her temperature.  Ada nods to herself. "I think you might need an oper - operational."

 

At the end of the video, years later, around the time of Ada's 18th birthday, when the family watch it back together, all clustered in Bernie and Serena's living room, after watching Ada blow out her candles, after watching Bernie's mummy impression - 'sorry for that, Bunny,' Ada laughs - at the very end of the video you can hear Elinor's chuckling voice. 

 

"Good god, she’ll be performing a trauma laparoscopy by the time she’s ten."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was talking about Berena as grandmas on Tumblr and Bunny was a suggestion I was gratefully allowed to adopt by akaanonymouth.


	8. Mistakes (II)

"I'm close, just . . ." Bernie moans. "Nearly, I just need . . "

 

"Well hurry up. We haven't got all day."

 

"One second. I can just . . . if you just . . " Bernie places her hand on Serena's stocking-clad calf. Bernie's hands are freezing through the thin material and Serena yelps, moving her leg. Bernie is on all fours and her arm, previously on Serena's calf, slips. She manages to steady herself in time and not fall flat on her face. She hits her head on the roof of the table. Groans. 

 

"Bernie," Serena gasps. 

 

At this point - or rather during this point - the door to their office swings offer. Cameron stands in the doorway, file in hand. "I was just wondering - "

 

He hears a noise under the table. It sounds like his mum.

 

"Why is Mu- Ms Wolfe under the table?" He turns beetroot red before all the words have left his mouth. He notes the closed blinds. Remembers the groans he heard seconds before as he came in. "I'll come back later," he says, words rushing into each other. He turns promptly on foot.

 

"Cam, wait," a voice tries under the table, "I wasn't . . . we weren't . . ." Bernie sighs, already hearing her son's dissapearing footsteps. She crawls back out from underneath the table. 

 

Serena sees her flushed face, her mussed-up hair. It does, in fact, look like they _were_. She bursts out in laughter. Can't help herself.

 

"It's not funny," Bernie protests, sitting back in her chair but smiling all the same. "We're going out for a family dinner tonight. I'm not going to be able to look Cam in the eye."

 

"Just tell him - just tell him," Serena laughs, wiping away tears, "that it wasn't what it seemed."

 

Bernie looks like she'd rather die. 

 

"Tell him it was a misunderstanding," Serena says, "completely innocent." 

 

Bernie's gaze suspiciously drops to the floor. 

 

Serena learns forward in her chair. " _Bernie_." 

 

"I wasn't doing anything," she squeaks. "You said it yourself." 

 

"No, but that doesn't mean you weren't thinking anything."

 

"I'm not the one," Bernie hisses across the table, "that choose to wear a skirt today." 

 

"Why, Ms Wolfe were you peeking?" Serena gasps. "You were." 

 

Yes, and your legs just widened on there own accord when I was down there, Bernie wants to say to her girlfriend. But she is overcome by an another wave of embrassment. Because yes, her thoughts had turned less pure for a moment, in their office, at work, for Christ's sake and yes, she had, momentarily, only as a fantasy, only briefly, entertained the idea of forgetting entirely why she was under the table in the first place, instead moving closer to Serena and parting Serena's legs and dipping her head and - 

 

_Jesus Christ._

 

In the fantasy, however, she had first firmly locked the door to their office. 

 

"Oh fuck," Bernie puts her head in her hands. 

 

"Yes, that is, rather unfortunately, what the question is about," Serena supplies rather unhelpfully. Bernie just glowers back. 

 

Serena pushes back on her chair. Bends down. Swipes up the dropped pen Bernie struggled to retrieve. 

 

"Found the bugger," she smiles.

 

- 

 

When they are walking down the corridor from AAU, Serena notices something is wrong.

 

"Everything okay?"

 

"Yeah, I just . . ." Bernie flexes her back. Hisses. "Think I've done it in again."

 

"The reservation's not till half seven," Serena looks at her watch, "I can take a long before then, if you want?"

 

"Thought I felt it go earlier, earlier in the office, when I was - "

 

Cameron, walking behind them, has a rather loud coughing fit. He doesn't say a word. Doesn't look either of them in the eye as he hurries past them. 

 

"We have to cancel," Bernie tells Serena. 

 

"Nonsense. I'll look at your back. Some painkillers and you'll be right as rain."

 

"It's not that." 

 

"Bernie you've been looking forward to this for week. Charlotte's coming."

 

"I know but can't we just, say it is my back, that it is the pain and stay at home?"

 

"What and have your son think we're spending the evening with me helping you look for pens." 

 

"Lesser of two evils," Bernie judges, "no face to face contact." 

 

Seren sighs. Winds her arm through Bernie's.

 

"Come on, soldier. Buckle up. Time to get your battle face on." 

 

Bernie takes a deep, cleansing breathe. Dinner with Cam. She can do this. It was just a misunderstanding.

 

They walk on together, out into the car pack. "If you're really good," Serena whispers into her ear, "I've come up with an idea for another thing you could find." 

 

Bernie knows in that instant she will never look at a certain pesky inanimate object again in the same way.

 


	9. Lost & Found

Bernie searches everywhere. Locker. Office. Home. Her wardrobe. Her laundry. Every room in Serena’s house. Even her own flat, even though she hasn’t stayed there in weeks. She still can’t find it. Eventually, she admits defeat. She has lost it.

 

-

 

When you lose your soulmate, however temporary, there are the little things you miss.

 

When Bernie looks up from a file and across her desk ( _their_ desk, _hers_ only temporary, only for now, she hopes) for a second opinion, or simply for a break from the dense text of patient notes, a brief respite for her tired eyes: Serena peering down at her own paperwork, forehead creased, lips pursed, pen rolling between her fingertips.

 

When Bernie looks up from a man’s intestines, her blood-soaked hands holding the contents of his stomach, and the scent of blood and hope and desperation is in the air ( _maybe they can’t do this, maybe they will lose him)_ as her eyes meet brown ones, familiar in their warmth, comforting and stabilising, an anchor for Bernie. _We can do this._

 

When Bernie toes off her trainers in the hallway and lines them up, military straight and there isn’t a pair of hideous, but practical black shoes next to hers. When she hangs her pink coat up and there isn’t a red one for her own coat to join, or an array of patterned, flowery scarfs for her to risk knocking off so that her fingers must retrieve the slippery fabric off the floor.

 

When she reels off her memorised order at Pulses, so ingrained in her brain she lists it off unconsciously. Two strong coffees, strong and hot. Maybe a _pain au chocolat._ (Only when she reaches the office door does she realise the _pain au chocolat_ wasn’t for her and she has two coffees to drink.)

 

She makes those little mistakes, often and repeatedly. Today, she is making tea with three mugs set out on the kitchen counter. However, she recognises her mistakes quicker now. As she pours the tea, for instance, steam wafting in her face and making her blink. She takes Jason his tea and sips her own, perching on the arm of the sofa. It is covered in a plastic film, like some of the carpet.

 

 “Auntie Serena would tell you to sit down properly,” Jason informs her.

 

“She would,” Bernie concurs. She has grown a little . . . lax now, leaving her clothes on the floor some nights after long, exhausting hours in theatre, maybe, if Jason is away, leaving the washing up in the sink until the morning away. However, she is a lot tidier now she lives with Jason, always conscious of his routines and preferences and needs.

 

Bernie stands up from the arm of the sofa (even if Serena isn’t here, this is Serena’s house and what Jason said is true.) Besides, she has got to get back to work. She is painting the bathroom (has already done the living room) for when Serena returns. When Bernie had suggested it, Serena insisted that she didn’t need to. And, well, she didn’t want to return from America to find the walls of her house decked out in every colour of the rainbow, maybe even lime-green or fluorescent orange. Bernie reassured her that wouldn’t happen. She would stick to the same or similar colours as the walls were now, if Serena wished. Bernie countered Serena’s reminder that she could easily afford to hire a painter with a plea that she needed something to occupy her mind with. And she liked it. Painting. Found it soothing and relaxing. Something to concentrate her mind on.

 

Bernie has been working hard in the weeks Serena has been gone. She was right when she thought that the house could do with a new lease of life. The walls look cleaner, fresher, brighter. She is halfway through painting the bathroom one shade of blue lighter than what it was. A fact evident by the light blue stains on her shirt.

 

It is the shirt Jason calls her attention as she goes to leave the room.

 

“That’s not your shirt.”

 

“You’re right.”

 

“It’s Auntie Serena’s. Did she say you could wear it?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then why are you wearing it?”

 

“Before she left, Serena sorted out her wardrobe. Made a pile of clothes she didn’t want anymore.”

 

“If she was going to throw it away, why did you keep it?”

 

“I needed something to paint in.”

 

“Don’t you have any old clothes?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“But you wanted to wear Auntie Serena’s particularly.”

 

“Yes, I suppose so.”

 

Jason sits in contemplative silence for a few seconds. “I miss her.”

 

“I know,” Bernie says, “I do too. But, she’s calling us tomorrow. You’ll get to speak to her then.”

 

“I can tell her that you’ve stolen her shirt.”

 

“If you want,” Bernie laughs.

 

“It doesn’t look right on you. It looks strange,” Jason says.

 

And Bernie doesn’t know what to say apart from agree with him.

 

-

 

“I’ll pass you on to Bernie now,” Jason says, handing Bernie the iPad he has been facetiming Serena on.

 

Bernie smiles instinctively at seeing her lover’s face, but she doesn’t, at first, say hi or ask how she is.

 

“Serena,” she levels, “did you take my grey hoodie?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

Bernie gives Serena a pointed look.

 

“It’s warm and comfortable, especially to sleep in and –”

 

“So is your own hoodie.”

 

“Yeah, but –” Serena tries to articulate the feeling of being enveloped within the soft fabric that smells faintly of Bernie, of the feeling of comfort and safety and familiarly that comes with zipping the jumper fully up and stuffing her hands in the pockets. She settles on three words, three words that could easily be replaced with _I love you_ or _I miss you_ , but aren’t those old clichés.

 

“It isn’t yours,” Serena says, voice slightly sheepish but eyes sparkling.

 

Bernie hasn’t lost her hoodie after all, and as her and Serena’s conversation progresses, as they laugh together, as they tell each other about their days, even though the feeling of absence, of losing something, of missing something, of not having it close enough to you but instead hundreds of miles away is so strong in their words, so obviously unsaid, that it is almost a presence, Bernie realises another mistake she has made. Serena tells her she’s thinking of coming back. Hasn’t booked flights. Nothing set in concrete. But she wants to come back, before the end of summer. She's wants to make plans for it. Tomorrow.

 

The thing Bernie realises is twofold: she hasn’t lost her hoodie and neither has she lost her soulmate.

 

She never did.

 

 


	10. Waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU. Serena is in her early thirties.

Serena sighs as she opens the fridge door. It is hot today: sweltering heat that sticks to your every pore. She has stripped down to her underwear and the blast of icy air from the freezer on her skin is more than welcome. She retrieves a tub of raspberry ripple and searches for two bowls from the cupboard when she hears the door unlock. Hears Bernie’s footsteps in the hallway.  
Serena plucks two spoons out the dishwasher, starts emptying the rest of the clean cutlery.

  
“Let me do that,” Bernie offers, dropping a kiss to her cheek. She reaches for a plate.

Serena bats her hand away. “I’m pregnant. Not some sexist husband from the fifties intent on double-burdening his wife.” When she sees Bernie start to protest, she adds: “and you’ve been holed up in theatre all day. In this heat.”

  
“Not a fan?” Bernie starts to scoop out ice-cream into the bowls.

  
Serena pulls a face. How can anyone be a fan of temperatures so high you start to sweat five minutes after you’ve showered? She turns to Bernie. Does her best impression of the Wicked Witch of the West. “I’m melting.”

  
“Talking of melting.” Bernie picks up the bowls of ice-cream from the side.

  
As they make their way to the living room, Bernie asks Serena if she’s been drinking plenty.

  
“Oh yes,” Serena jests. “You caught me just before my second bottle of shiraz.”

  
Bernie chuckles at the desperate longing in Serena’s voice. “Only three more weeks,” she reassures her.

  
“That long?” Serena groans, one hand cradling her belly as she slumps down on the sofa. “I feel, no I look like a beached whale.”

  
Bernie hands her a bowl of ice-cream, sits down beside her. “But a very beautiful whale.”

  
Serena points her spoon sharply at Bernie. Narrows her eyes. “You think I look like a whale?”

  
“Beautiful,” Bernie’s words rush out her mouth. “I specifically remember saying beautiful.”

  
Serena breaks into a grin. Can feel Bernie’s relief when she sets down her spoon, digs into the ice-cream. She is too lethargic to tease Bernie anymore. She slips a spoonful of raspberry ripple into her mouth at the soft, cold taste on her tongue. Moans. Tilts her head back against the sofa and closes her eyes.

  
She hears the scrape of Bernie’s spoon. Feels her watching her. Thinks that Bernie hasn’t yet commented on arriving home to a half-naked wife. The practicality of it in this weather is irrefutable, but Serena guesses there are other reasons as to why Bernie is in full support of her lack of clothes.

  
Without opening her eyes, she warns: “Berenice Wolfe, if I find you are staring at my breasts again.“

  
Bernie’s eyes dart down to fixate on a particular deep red swirl of ice-cream in her bowl.

  
“You do have to admit though they are quite magnificent.”

  
Serena’s eyes flutter open as Bernie takes her hand and gazes up at Serena in adoration. “You’re magnificent.”

  
“I’m only having -”

  
“Exactly,” Bernie interrupts her. Brings Serena’s hand to her lips and kisses. She’s got a good idea of what Serena’s gone though, all the sickness and aches and moods, but she was never pregnant with twins and there was no July heatwave during her third trimester. Cameron was a winter baby. Had his first Christmas when he was weeks old.

  
“Quick,” Serena’s voice breaks through Bernie’s reverie. She grabs Bernie’s hand and plants it on her round stomach. The babies have kicked several times before, but she knows Bernie loves to feel the movement.

  
Bernie’s mouth curves into a wide smile as she feels their daughters kick. “Who do you think it is?”

  
“Oh, Charlotte, definitely.”

  
“Why not Elinor?”

  
“Maybe it’s both. Maybe they’re taking turns,” Serena laughs, “to tell me how much they want to get out.”

  
“True sisterhood.”

  
Serena feels a twinge in her back. Shifts on the sofa. Tries to get more comfortable, even though she doubts she’s known the meaning of comfortable since the end of her second trimester.

  
When she moves to sit up straighter, a drip of ice-cream spills from the spoon in her hand. One Bernie is only to happy to lick from Serena’s stomach. Taking the opportunity to press a kiss there.

  
“Now, you two,” Bernie murmurs, “I’m sure you’re going to have plenty of times to exercise your fighting spirit over the next few months, but I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a little longer.”

  
Less than an hour later, red-faced and panting in a hospital bed, Serena shoots daggers at Bernie. Blames it all on her. She gave their daughters a challenge, and ever a Wolfe, ever a McKinnie, Charlotte and Elinor couldn’t resist.

  
They did not wait as their mother told them.

  
-

  
No, earlier that night when Serena lay back on top of the bed covers, listening to the sounds outside dripping in from the open windows, the occasional honk of a car horn or the whirl of a far-off siren, she felt another twinge. That soon definitely wasn’t a twinge, but a pain that had her clutching her belly. Breathing hard. Breathe. She told herself. Just breathe.

  
Now, the contractions would probably start slow. It could be hours until the whole thing kicked in. They had the overnight bag packed. They had the nursery filled with supplies of nappies and clothes and bottles.

  
They were ready.

  
Serena sat up slowly and got out of bed. Reached down to Bernie. Whispered her name and stroked her face, trying to coax her awake.

  
“Serena?”

  
“It’s happening.”

  
“What?” Bernie blinked through the darkness, groggily.

  
“Darling, I think the buns are ready to pop from -” Serena froze as she felt liquid between her legs. “Oh, God.” Panic filled her voice as the reality hit home, this was happening, right here, right now and a lot sooner than she expected. “My waters.”

  
“Already? Now?” Bernie jolted wide awake. It was good the room was dark. If Serena could see Bernie pale, she would have not so politely reminded her that she was - within the very near future - about to push two humans out of her vagina. She was meant to be the terrified one.

  
“Are you sure?” Bernie clambered over the bed to Serena’s side. Another contraction hit Serena, she bent forward, hands clutching down on Bernie’s shoulders so hard Bernie could feel the dig of nails.

  
“Yes,” Serena said through gritted teeth. “I’m bloody sure.”

  
Thankfully, it was her grip on Bernie that stopped the blonde from falling back, faint on the bed. Instead, it readied her into action. She held Serena, helped her through the contraction. Her mind started to calm, to plan, to strategise like it does in theatre.

  
As she has the blood in her hand cut off by Serena’s grip, her mind whirls.

  
It’s happening.

  
They’re going to met their daughters.


	11. Shoulds

They should stop.

 

But Serena can''t bring herself to say the words, not when Bernie's tongue is in her mouth and her hands are in her hair. Not when the door is locked, the blinds closed and it's hard to believe that the world itself hasn't narrowed to the feel of Bernie's lips on hers.

 

They should stop, but Bernie's pushing her against a wall and her mouth is now on the juncture between her shoulder and neck, tongue licking the skin and Serena's hands are gripping her arse and Bernie's hand is under her singlet, palming her breast.

 

"We . . . need to talk" Serena gasps.

  
Bernie draws back, eyes wide and dark. Her lips are swollen and shining with Serena's new lipstick.

 

"Later," Serena amends and within a second Bernie's eyes are asking her a question and her own are answering, silently, wholeheartedly, back. yes, more.  
Bernie's slips a thigh between her thighs.

 

"Don't stop," Serena orders, before claiming Bernie's lips again.

 

What exactly did she expect to happen she asks herself, only a few moments later when she shudders and moans and Bernie blinks in surprise, before cradling Serena's head in her hands, bringing their foreheads together so their heavy breathes intermingle.

 

"Yes," Serena answers Bernie's question before she can answer it."Don't you remember what you promised me before you left?"

 

"Dinner."

 

"In an empty house."

 

"Oh."

 

"Two months," Serena takes Bernie's hands, slides them down, over her breasts, leaves them to mould to her hips. "Of sexual frustration."

 

"Didn't," already the smugness is creeping in Bernie's voice, "your policeman . . . er . . .scratch the itch?"

 

"Two months," Serena simply repeats.

  
That's a no, then. Bernie smirks. Serena slaps Bernie's arse.

 

"You have a lot of making up to do, Major."

 

Bernie sinks to her knees.

 

Serena's already wobbly legs nearly give way.

 

This exact sight has been the centre of her late-night fantasies since Bernie left for Kiev.

 

She looks up at Serena, smiles innocently, picks up a pen. "You knocked this off your desk." She reaches behind her, puts it away. Then she raises herself on her knees, just momentarily, so that her lips hover in front of where Serena throbs, where Serena is soaked, before standing up.

 

They stay there, pressed against each other, not kissing for a moment, before Serena gathers all the strength she can muster to slip past Bernie and pick up the phone.

 

"We're getting out of here," she tells Bernie, "and you're buying me dinner."

 

Bernie perfects a look, a tone of nonchalance. "Are we eating in or out?"

 

Serena squeezes her legs together and calls security.


End file.
